Why Do We Crucify Ourselves?
by Ming Li
Summary: A songfic to "Crucify" by Tori Amos, about a teenage lover of Lucius Malfoy. Short deathfic. Contains domestic abuse, sexuality (not *too* explicit), and suicide.


  
~crucify  
every finger in the room is pointing at me  
I wanna spit in their faces  
then I get afraid of what that could bring~  
  
"Filthy whore," he said lazily, those cold, gray eyes of his boring into her soul like twin beams of almost-evil light. He was drunk. He was usually drunk on Saturday nights, in the summers, unless he'd found someone more interesting to spend his energy on for a brief few hours. What a lovely pair they had made -- Slytherin girl and grown-up alumni man. Her with onyx-colored hair and him so pale, so perfect. Stupid. She knew he loved her in his way. But the boy was spoiled rotten - he was now in his thirties, she was seventeen. When they had first really spoken, and he had broken her, she was fourteen. And he had told her she was beautiful. And now, he was telling her something else.  
  
"Dirty slut. Spread your legs for the first man that comes along. You loved it, didn't you, me forcing myself on you in the office in the Ministry of Magic. You cried afterwards, I remember, and then you asked me to stay the night."  
  
.. He hadn't stayed. He was also wrong about being the first man, though he was her first lover. She smiled bitterly at the thought. She could have been someone else. She could have had a life.  
  
Instead, she was Lucius Malfoy's teenage lover.  
  
"Lucius," she said, suddenly angry. She'd had it all, one day, she had been innocent, loved, she'd abandoned her self for him. And he paid her no to little attention, except when he wanted sex.  
  
~I got a bowling ball in my stomach  
I got a desert in my mouth  
figures that my courage  
would choose to sell out now~  
  
"What?" He snapped, turning his head, tilting back in his chair. They were alone, in the parlor of his manor. It was four AM.   
  
She shrank back. "Nothing," she murmured meekly, tucking her hair behind her ear.   
  
"S'what I thought." A familiar, animalistic expression came into his gaze. He gestured, and she came forward obediently. He pulled her to him roughly, murmuring into the perfumed scent of her hair.  
  
"You'll always be my girl, won't you? Always.. you can't run from me." He kissed her, and then bit her lip, drawing blood. She stifled a cry, feeling his probing hands moving over her skin, her own metallic-tasting blood dripping onto her bottom lip. She licked it off hastily, and he began to tear her robes from her body, his rough hands bruising her pale skin, his teeth nibbling sharply on her arms, her breasts, her stomach. He'd used her teeth, once, on the most sensitive spot possible and she'd been in pain for days.   
  
He screwed her. There was no other word for it, because that's what it was. There was no love, no emotion in it -- just his physical desire and her obeying, submissive body. And his need to dominate.  
  
~I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets  
looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets~  
  
It was two weeks later. She was in Diagon Alley -- tossing her hair, smiling, feeling pleasant. He'd beaten her, last Saturday, but today it was Friday, her bruises had faded and she was happy. Lucius would be gone til' tomorrow.  
  
A young man was a approaching her, she noticed, pretending not to see.  
  
"Hello..?" He was shy. A change. She turned. Smiled in recognition. He had been two years above her, in Ravenclaw, yet they had been friends.  
  
"Miss me?" She asked quietly, a smirk tugging at her lips.  
  
"God, it's been so long, hasn't it? C'mon, I'll buy you a drink." He didn't know about Lucius. No one ever would.  
  
She pretended to hesitate, knowing she would accept. "Well, all right. Just one," she allowed, giving him a sly smile.  
  
She went to bed with the boy that night.  
  
~I've been raising up my hands  
drive another nail in  
just what god needs  
one more victim~  
  
A smile of satisfaction wove its way over her face, two more weeks later. She examined the six individual slices over her wrists, red and bleeding and dripping over the floor. She carefully dabbed at them with a soft cloth til' they dried, then pulled her robe sleeves over them.  
  
"Hurry up, you're going to miss the train!" She could hear him calling, and sighed, scolding herself. Why is it that even after all he's done, the sound of his voice still makes you tingle?  
  
"Coming, Lucius!" She hurried forward. His wife didn't mind her staying with them over the summer. She had no family left, no one to really care about her. Draco had some idea of what was going on, of course; but she was just one in many. A special one, perhaps, but she could just get in line. Lucius had told Narcissa she was Draco's girlfriend.   
  
~why do we crucify ourselves  
every day I crucify myself  
nothing I do is good enough for you  
crucify myself every day  
and my heart is sick  
of being in chains~  
  
Two weeks later.  
  
"I'm sick of it!" A flurry of tears. Of rage, of anger, of bitterness.  
  
"You don't think I saw her? Dear god, Lucius, she's not even pretty!"  
  
"We're childhood friends," he responded icily, "And it's none of your business."  
  
"Marisa. Fucking. Parkinson." Her voice was low, trembling, heavy with rage and pain.  
  
"Get out." He turned his back on her.  
  
"If you think I'm ever going to spread my legs again for you, you sick bastard--"  
  
~got a kick for a dog beggin' for love  
I gotta have my suffering  
so that I can have my cross~  
  
"You like it," he cut in, hissing the words, whirling on her, one simple backhand sending her tumbling. She trembled, knowing how weak she was. She could never stand up to him, her Lucius, he was so strong.. her mind seemed to float apart as the candleholder he held smashed against her skull.  
  
~I know a cat named Easter  
he says will you ever learn  
you're just an empty cage, girl  
if you kill the bird~  
  
Madame Pomfrey studied her carefully, the kind woman's inquisitive gaze looking more at her blank, emotionless eyes than her head. "That's quite the blow you've got there, miss, how did you acquire it?"  
  
"Fell," she responded dully, staring at the ceiling. Lucius.. where was Lucius..?  
  
"I see," she said, obviously not believing it, "Well, get some rest."  
  
The strict woman turned on her heel and walked towards an aide. Words floated in to the hospital room, the dark-haired girl could hear..  
  
"..contact the headmaster.."  
"..abusive relationship.."  
"..obviously in denial.."  
  
She wasn't in denial. Lucius wasn't abusive. He was just right, he knew best.. she wanted these things, she deserved them, for not doing what he wanted..   
  
~why do we crucify ourselves  
every day I crucify myself  
nothing I do is good enough for you  
crucify myself every day~  
  
Two weeks later, a limp body hangs from an ebony cross just outside the Forbidden Forest. It is a girl, a student at Hogwarts in her seventh year; pretty, with raven curls and pale skin and scars up and down her wrists.   
  
~and my HEART is sick  
of being in chains~ 


End file.
